


And I want these words to make things right

by zeenell



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-26 21:27:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17149367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeenell/pseuds/zeenell
Summary: Four times Claude was disappointed by the name on his wrist and one time it might be okay.





	And I want these words to make things right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thebes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thebes/gifts).



> Well, this one definitely took me out of my wheelhouse/comfort zone.

It had started out as the perfect winter day. The sun was shining, the snow blanketing the trees around the pond was glistening and the pond itself was finally frozen over. 

He was old enough to skate without one of his parents watching him. Sure, he still had to tell them he was going and for how long - and apparently “until I get my slapshot perfect” wasn’t an actual answer which was just stupid. And he’d been having a great time. He’d worked on his shot and he remembered to practise skating backwards without having to turn his head to look. Well, until he had tripped over a branch because he hadn’t cleared all of the ice off but he was fine. He’d only landed a little off balance and his wrist was being stupid and wouldn’t stop hurting but it was only a little bit.

Claude rubbed at it. It didn't feel tight or hot, not at all like a sprain or strain, but it almost felt like an itchy hurt right down to the bone. An itchy hurt throbbing in time to his pulse. It made no sense.

He rubbed his wrist again, but nothing actually seemed wrong. Well, not wrong in the sense that it messed with his grip, it wouldn’t hurt to keep practising his shot now anyway, right? He could always tell his maman about it after he finished playing. Heck, if he timed it right, he could get out of doing his English worksheet that he had promised to do as soon as he got back into the house. It wasn’t like he needed English now anyway - that was just for when he was older and playing in the NHL.

Claude jumped and fell to the ice when his wristwatch alarm went off. Pulling himself into a sitting position, stripping off his gloves to silence the alarm, he went still. 

His Name was on his wrist. And it looked strange. Pretty, but strange. He couldn’t read it but he wasn’t sure if it was a weird English script or a different foreign language. It just wasn’t in French.

Ugh, now he was actually going to have to pay attention in class just to make sure it wasn’t English, wasn’t he? 

~~~~

Over the years, Claude had gotten used to being disappointed in many things. Not being drafted twice in the Q, even though he had been named rookie of the year. Not being named to any of the team Canada rosters. Getting mono had sucked extra hard, but he had worked through it. Hell, he had just got himself drafted TWENTY-SECOND, jesus fuck, he couldn’t believe it.

But with getting drafted, he had to show his wrist to the team doctor and the NHL officials just to make sure there wasn’t any weird conflicts of interest. Most of them kept forgetting he didn’t really speak English and they kept asking too many questions and they were making his head hurt. There’s tonnes of Quebecois in the NHL, you’d think they would be better at this. Or that they would stop grabbing his wrist and moving it around to change the way the light hit the Name. He wasn’t a toy. 

“Excuse me, I still don’t know what the Name says? I never figured it out beyond it being Cyrillic writing which I assumed was Russian?” He asked the younger looking lady looking at his wrist. She had actually introduced herself, in decent enough French even, even though he didn’t remember her name. She had had a pretty smile.

“Oh, it’s Malkin. Evgeni Malkin.”

Claude breathed deep and slowly released it. “The Penguin?”

“Yes, we think so. He was allowed to decline to register his name since he’s Russian. It’s one of the exemptions in the rulebook.”

Claude looked over at the other officials arguing. “Any others I should know?”

“You’ll want to check the section yourself, but there should be something in it about how you can’t discuss Names on gamedays or at most official league events. Apparently it might be enough to cause emotional distress since you’re on opposing teams and give one of you an unfair advantage.” She seemed to hesitate. “And because he’s not actually registered with the league, they can’t notify him on your behalf. He might not be the Malkin on your wrist or it might be unreciprocated. “

So, yeah, he was used to disappointment, but he hadn’t expected to feel it on the day that he discovered who his Name actually was.

~~~~

Finally playing against the Penguins in Pittsburgh was. Something. There was definitely a lot of animosity from their fans to his team but passion was good. It meant they were interested. 

Finally meeting Malkin anywhere but on the ice, on the other hand, wasn’t good. He knew Geno had limited English but he wasn’t expecting it to be more limited than his own. And he never seemed to take his wrist guard off.

But if the way Malkin had suddenly “forgotten” something in his locker room as soon as he had seen him in the hallway. Maybe. Maybe he had a chance. But he knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up. He’d heard things on the news about Russia.

~~~~

Sometimes, there was a really simple way to categorize the level of drunkness in rookies. It mostly involved seeing how seriously they would answer a “just a thought” question that was presented earnestly.

And Claude? Claude was a master at this, if he would say so himself. Also, he might have accidentally gotten himself drunk trying to get the rookie drunk. 

“Accidentally? You did this on purpose. What are the boys going to think when I drag your drunk ass back to the hotel room?” 

“That we are at the all star game and that we are just celebrating? It’s not like i’m staying in the same room as you, Danny.” Claude pulled his arm away from Danny’s shoulders. He didn’t need help getting up. He just liked this stool. It was a good stool. It had treated him well.

“Wait. Where did the rookies go? Danny, we have to make sure they aren’t going to get arrested for public indecency.”

“They left when you couldn’t actually speak English anymore. You’ve been speaking French for the past hour. And why are you petting the stool?”

Claude stuck his tongue out. “I have not been speaking French.”

Danny shook his head. “For fucks sake, you’re still speaking French.” 

“Well, you’re speaking French,” he retorted.

“That’s what happens when it’s your first language. Think you can get up without any help?”

Claude tilted his head to the side. “That depends on if the floor is moving up and down like the wall is.”

Danny pushed his hair straight back. “Guess I have to help you then.” A pause. “What was the question you were asking the rookies anyway?”

Claude smiled sadly. “What do you do when you don’t ever seem to be in the same spot as your Name when you actually have the time to talk?”

Danny huffed. “This again? I’m pretty sure whomever your Named is isn’t doing this on purpose. Look, let’s get you back to the hotel, you can drink some water, and then you can tell me all about it. Again. Emphatically.”

~~~~

Claude was high on victory and drunk on so much champagne. Not only had they won the world cup, they had swept the fucking thing. And hell, he had put in a good enough showing that maybe this time he would be considered for the Olympic team.

He had no idea what was being said around him. Everything was melting together and seemed fuzzy, soft. It was the best feeling ever.

“Claude. Claude. Hey. Claude.” Claude finally focused on who was talking to him. It was Crosby, looking all. Captainly. Jesus, no wonder Crosby was always fucking Captain Canada.

“What Croz?” He blinked. There were three of Crosby, that might be a problem for future him.

“I’m going to give you a room key - you should go there now.”

“I didn’t know you felt that way about me. I guess I’m the better option over Segs.”

“Hey, I heard that.”

“No, you didn’t.” Both he and Crosby said at the same time. Crosby then put the keycard in his hand. “Seriously, you should go. I wrote the room number on it.”

“Now?”

“Yeah.The team is winding down now and the reporters won’t be back here again for a bit. You should get while the gettings good.” Crosby steered him towards and then into the elevator before hitting the floor button for him.

When Claude finally made it to the room, he hesitated before unlocking the door and entering. Somehow it was exactly who he was expecting to be there without actually expecting to see him.

“Hi, Malkin.”

Malkin looked over and then away again, his face starting to turn red. “It Zhenya for you or Geno if you say it wrong too much. If you want. Sid say stop being stupid and talk to you.” Geno rolled his eyes. “Sid always being Captain. So annoying.”

Claude took a deep breath. “Yeah, and now I’m going to have to be nice to him. Just what I wanted out of life.”

Malk- no, Geno, looked over at Claude, seeming to deliberately catch his eye and winking before beaming. Claude could feel his face getting warm and his heart felt fluttery. Fuck, Geno had a gorgeous smile.


End file.
